


Leap Year

by WitchyTwitchy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hermia Tries Her Best, Implied Relationships, Memory Loss, Old Friends, Original Character(s), Other, Reincarnation, Tid Sucks At Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24052438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyTwitchy/pseuds/WitchyTwitchy
Summary: Memories are a delicate thing ; easily tainted or renewed from the touches of something else. Hermia has always compared her dreams to her memories too ,since both contain fleeting and hazy wisps of images rather then clear pictures.[or where hermia reunites, multiple times, with an old friend]
Relationships: Hermia Wormwood & Tid Mathews, Hermia Wormwood/Gigi Withers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Leap Year

For some reason, she always feels like she's forgetting something. When she lays in her cot, there's a pressure against her eyelids - flashes of something that she can never grasp. It stings and leaves her body sore the moment she awakes, dreams littering in her head that feel too familiar to be just dreams.

The dreams - the memories - are always gone the moment she awakes. Another headache attacking her brain. She doesn't remember any of them, only in flashes later on in the day, and as she hurries to get ready to head off to college, she feels a pain in her chest anytime she bends over.  
For some reason, she can perfectly see the image of a sword splitting through her stomach - and crimson leaking down her body.

With a shiver, confused and nervous, she forces the image away and finishes packing her bag. Making sure to lock the door as she leaves her dorm room.

Nothing changes, but her stomach reels with how she feels as if she's experiencing everything for the first time.

* * *

"Do I know you?" The words burst from her full, orange tainted lips. The words are hers- and yet not at the same time. When dull green eyes turn to stare at her, she flinches as if the reaction is muscle memory.

The man looks her up and down, trying to look bored with his posture and gaze, and yet she can tell he tensed at the question. She doesn't know him, but he looks familiar ; and she somehow knows his body well enough to decide he's nervous. His bright red lips curl a bit, before he smiles kindly. "Sorry, you have the wrong guy. I would remember a pretty sight like you." He flirts, but it feels forced.

Somehow, here in the library with a man she doesn't know but does, she feels another headache start up. This time though, there's anger with it, and it's another thing she can't understand. He doesn't know her, that's fine.  
But when she sees him turn back to his book, red nails trailing the cover with Egyptian Gods on it, she feels like he should know her. Because she knows him. The fact she thinks this so strongly is terrifying to her, and her eyes widen with fear of the unknown. Mutely, she grabs her three Sherlock Holme books, clutching them like a lifeline to her chest, and turns on her heel to flee. She's a coward, and whenever confronted with something that she doesn't understand - something with no evidence - she's quick to run away.

When she's gone, the man's jaw finally relaxes, and it's a wonder if he had ever been reading the book at all.

* * *

Despite her intense reading and her ability to take notes like it was second nature, she has never written anything for herself. Whenever she picks up a pen and notepad, her notes only relate to some sort of true crime story, or interesting things she picked up while reading. Never in her life has she kept a diary. And yet here she is, on her knees in the middle of her home, cradling a book in her hands. A book, clearly labeled, 'Hermia's Diary'.

Her breathing is stable, even as her heart races. Even as her green eyes swell with tears. How could she ever forget writing her own diary? She was supposed to be so smart, and yet every day she felt like she was forgetting a million things. Surely, Nancy Drew has never been in this sort of predicament?

She draws a breath, steeling herself before she flips it open. The handwriting doesn't even look like hers, but it doesn't make the book feel more foreign to her at all. It's familiar. And although her eyes take in the page covered in words and terrible scribbles of places and people she's never seen, she realizes she can't take any of it in.

With panicked haste that would make anyone believe she had been caught committing a crime, she slams the book shut and shoves it back into the crack in her wall. She crawls back until she hits her other wall. Her body folds on itself then, honey-brown hands clutching at her windswept hair as she shakes.

Crying is what any normal person would do, but all Hermia can do is laugh.

* * *

Today, as Hermia noses through millions of books, she spots someone in the library she's never seen before. She eyes him, curious, and decides to investigate because - well - that's what her fictional idols would do. And this is her territory after all, seeing as she comes here every day, so it would be sensible to check out the new meat.

She squares her broad shoulders and starts to snoop. Pretending in her mind that this is a real case, and she's a real investigator, but as she stalks, she can't help but wonder why she's going through all the trouble. Why she's making excuses in her head just to seek someone out. Hermia doesn't recall acting this way before, and it's a critical thought that plagues her head as she slips behind a bookshelf; removing a book to peek at the man in the isle front of her.

His posture is rather proper for someone living in a generation like this; back straight even as he looks at a book that's on eye-level to him. When she really thinks about him, she realizes he looks too proper completely. It's like he's completely out of place in a world like this, and like he belongs in some other timeline. With his black and white checkered suit, milky white skin, and styled black hair. She tries to place him in a timeline - for her own amusement - comes short when she suddenly sees him with darkened skin, bearing jewels. Another image, fleeting, of him in a white robe and once again pale skin. More and more images pile up, and she feels sick with them, stumbling away. The clearest image had been him in a leather jacket, glasses, and lazily smirking as he loudges in a booth and sips at his milkshake. She can taste strawberry milk in her mouth - and it's too much.

Investigating some innocent stranger was a bad idea on her part. So she pictures her parents scolding her, their image and voice foggy, and exits the isle in haste. She feels eyes on her back as she exits, and she's still slightly bold enough to glance over her shoulder to see the man eyeing her. He smiles when their eyes meet, suddenly familiar bright red lips curling at the sides, and sends her a bow. It's almost mocking, and it offends her, though she doesn't know why. It makes her bristle and her cheeks flash with warmth, her eyes darting away as she turns and rushes off again.

He's gone about an hour later; Hermia watching him leave with a careful gaze. There had been nothing in his hands, and isn't that strange for someone who spent an entire two hours in a library? With determination that she has to force up, she races to where he had stood and drinks in the selection of books he stared at. It will give her information on him, this she knows.

Books of Shakespeare - someone who's work she's extremely familiar with. She can see him liking Shakespeare, but her small smile fades into a frown when she notices a lot of History books as well. Even some books detailing space. Hermia has to lean in to try and see which one had been fiddled with the most, nose scrunching up as she assets each and every book for signs of recent use. For smudged fingerprints, or folded pages, or if they aren't in the place their label says they should be.

And soon, in her hands, rests a book titled 'Black Holes and Time Warps' , written as far back as 1994. She considers checking it out, but something in her brain clicks - and it's like the man's fingerprints left a thousand red flags on the cover alone - and Hermia puts it back with a shiver. Nervously, she checks the time on her gold watch, and realizes closing is soon. And she can't leave without a book, can she?

Hermia is drawn to a Shakespeare play that she's unknowingly avoided for a long time.

"The Tragedy of Julius Caesar?" The owner of the library laughs, her eyes wrinkling as she checks it out. "Beware the Ides of March, Miss. Wormwood."

"I've never liked March much, anyways." She smiles tightly back.

* * *

Classes haven't been easy for her recently. Despite the fact she usually excels in all her classes with as much ease as breathing, she's starting to feel like it's more of a struggle to study. To breathe even.

Her mind is full before she gets her restless sleep, but when she awakens it's as if she's never had a thought at all. Remembering yesterday is a challenge for her, remembering stuff a month ago isn't even possible- let alone her childhood. In the beginning of all of this, she never cared about this fact. Instead, she would shrug it off, and nestle in her chair and do some work. Suddenly she can't even remember her work - and it's all become even worse. A problem you ignore only seems to grow bigger, a fact Hermia is ashamed about forgetting.

It's not a surprise that one of her classmates gets upset at her one evening, after a lecture. Her behavior recently; showing up late, accidently being disruptive with her loud noises of frustration; was definitely catching everyone's attention.  
What she isn't expecting, is for it to be someone who hates her guts.

Gigi grabs her wrist and yanks her down another hallway as students spill out of the room. She flinches at the deadly grip, and makes a fruitful attempt to get away, but the blonde just throws her hair over her shoulder and scowls at her attempt.

"You know, I didn't think you could ever get more annoying." She snarls, acting as if she's the cornered animal when that position should be Hermia's right. "In fact, I thought your downfall would be funny - but it's annoying. I prefer you as a straight A student. Stop being terrible."

And finally, her wrist is released, and Gigi levels her with a look. Glancing at her, before looking at the student infested hallway. She's giving her the chance to run off and be alone. Hermia recalls these harsh grips in highschool, and remembers never getting the chance to run at all. Not like she would've, even if she wished that she felt that way.  
But it's the first flood of memories she can faintly recall, and all due to familiar touch- it gives her an idea for later. For once, she doesn't flee. She remembers a portion of highschool and it's so nice to have a memory.

Hermia places her hands in her orange trenchcoat pockets, pursing her lips. "How do you know?" Blue eyes narrow with confusion, and suddenly the question holds a thousand meanings between them. So she coughs before clarifying. "How do you know I'm doing bad in class? Maybe I've just been disruptive and tired. I could still have my straight A streak. How would you be any the wiser?" Where is her evidence, Hermia wonders?

Gigi brushes invisible dirt off her white crop top, and her eyes gleam. There's a moment of silence, a game of her baiting Hermia into wanting to get more pushy, but finally there's an answer. "I guess it's just my woman's intuition. Every woman has one, you know." Her blue lips twitch into a knowing smile.

The words feel heavy, as if there's more meaning there. Hermia realizes that perhaps the girl is citing a work she expects her to know, and so she asks, "Citing something, Gigi?" And she isn't teasing, or anything of the sort, just curious.

Then the girl looks stricken. Her mouth falls open, eyes flashing with surprise and a hint of hurt, and just like that- she gets mad again. Mean. This time it isn't because it's their routine, but it's coming from a place of hurt. She roughly shoves past Hermia, almost knocking her over despite her smaller frame, and she sneers her way.

"It's Nancy Drew, dick." Her voice comes off pained and defensive all at once. "You really aren't well, if you don't know something as simple as that."

The once crowded hallway is empty, and Hermia can only watch Gigi retreat into it. Her hand clutches at her chest, and she knows it's silly - but she feels genuine heartache at this reveal.

She's forgetting everything. Every single day she forgets a little more.

Hermia throws up the moment she gets home.

The girl skips lecture for two days to re read every single Nancy Drew book ever made. Repeating every single iconic quote under her breath to remember.

And the urge to grab her diary she can't recall and write in it is fierce, but for the life of her she can't remember where she put it.

* * *

She swears that she's never seen the new person in the library before, yet her gut churns with acknowledgement that she has. He sits at a table near the big windows in the front; the warm, golden sunlight hitting his form perfectly. The word 'unworldly' sits on her tongue.

Today she has on large, warm tinted glasses, and she adjusts them as she looks on without a care. He can't see her eyes behind the lenses, and while she didn't wear these just for the purpose of spying - it still feels like she had premeditated this action without her own knowledge.

With Sherlock Holmes in mind she takes in the coffee that sits at the table with a few books and a phone. Sees the chicken scratch on the cup that seems to only be three letters. And then with psychology on her mind, she takes in his sitting position. His right leg is crossed over his knee, and he leans into the chair with ease - but the position , while seemingly relaxed, is closed in. The book is practically in his face, and it's clear he doesn't want to be disturbed.

Hermia bites the inside of her cheek and walks over, trying to be courageous and inspect him more closely. He hears her approach, and lowers his book - and the contrast of his red lips and green eyes would look terrible on anyone , but it seems to work for him. The morning light makes his skin look a bit less cold too, though she is puzzled why she believes it to be cold in the first place.  
He raises a perfect eyebrow at her appearance, laughing softly. "Stalking me now?"

"Stalking you?" She blinks, and her green eyes are as dull as his own. "It can't be stalking unless I've seen you before." A pause. "Which I haven't, by the way."

The man in the checkered suit smiles, almost cruelly, and his eyes glaze over with amusement. "So you say.." He laughs mirthlessly.

It's quiet then, his eyes turning back to the pages in his book- while Hermia can only stare. There's something familiar about this attitude, dismissive and yet clearly open for chase...She swallows thickly, and licks her lips; tasting the Fanta lip gloss she's wearing. He doesn't shoo her away, but with how tightly he's clenching his jaw, it's clear he might really want to do so.  
Her eyes clicker to the cup, closer now to read the terrible cursive, and the name strikes a nerve.

"Tid."

Like clockwork, his head snaps up, surprise rippling through his features - and he looks terrified and relieved all at once. The girl feels like she's being seen by him for the first time since this encounter - along with any other encounter she apparently can't recall - and it makes her legs wobble. His mouth opens, agape, before he smirks slyly. The book is placed to the side, and he leans forward in his seat, looking up at her.

"You aren't supposed to remember me, you know? Can't be wasting my resources for nothing!" Tid narrows his eyes then, looking agitated. "Putting a big, red sign on my back isn't fun for me. No matter what many seem to believe."

It's like she's supposed to know something. He's acting like she knows what he's talking about. He's acting as if he knows what's happening to her. Hermia feels her body tense as his rude tone is thrown her way, but it feels more like muscle memory rather than her reacting to his anger. There's fleeting images behind her eyelids. A reminder. The doorway to understanding this entire mess..but she's scared. She wants to figure out every puzzle thrown her way, except this one, because her stomach boils with the urge to vomit - and her body throbs..suddenly sore.  
She feels the pain of her muscles tearing open in her stomach, her throat aching with bruises, and yet it's all just phantom pains.

Tid gets more upset, scoffing and snapping his fingers in her face. "C'mon! Don't just stand there with your mouth open like a moron! Sit."

The command falls to deaf ears. It's too much. Her body almost moves forward on its own, but her mind is still hers - and she takes a step back. The book in her arms drops to the floor. Tid looks down at it, eyes wide, and doesn't catch her as she rushes out.

The Tragedy of Julius Caesar is left at the strange man's feet. And somehow, it seems fitting.

* * *

The first time she feels genuine happiness in months - or at least, she believes it's been months - is when she finally remembers a lecture the next morning. She wakes up, remembers, and it feels amazing. Hermia feels like herself just for a moment and it feels like fresh water on her skin. Sitting in her next class makes her feel strong, actually understanding every reference the professor makes about yesterday. She sits up straight, watchful, and goes back to taking notes like a champ. Her pen scribbles across paper with ease, and Hermia knows she's a bit old-fashioned in her ways as she hears the clicking of keyboards all around her. Usually, she would somewhat feel weird about how strange she always had been- but not today.

Not when she's having the best day of her life by far.

The class ends three hours later, ending with Hermia grinning as she stretches her swore hand. People pack up and start to head out while the girl lingers. Bathing in her normal life for just a moment, because she knows that tomorrow she might forget everything once more.

As she carefully reads through her notes, the tickle of hair touches her cheek, and she rears back. Gigi is leaning over her shoulder.

Her blonde hair falls over her face, somewhat shielding it from her, soft locks brushing against her throat and cheek. Hermia notices the stark contrast between them, as if it's the first time she's ever taken it in. And maybe it is.  
For her, she loves warm colors despite her love of cold weather. Ever since elementary, she's worn eye-straining colors. Believing it was destiny, because even her skin tone is warm in it's own right. Her favorite warm shade is the color orange. It's the color she most often wears, even. But Gigi doesn't match with her at all, not even the tiniest bit. They clash, violently, and not just in their personalities. Just looking at them gives it off.

Gigi likes blue. That's the basis of it. It clashes against her bright orange, but that's not all. The other girl - or woman she supposes - is naturally different too. Her hair is so blonde it's almost white, standing out against Hermia's fawn hair and dark skin completely. She has freckles and light skin as well, and while Hermia's skin is clear ; Gigi's skin is rough and dry looking. Despite this knowledge, Hermia has never cared much about being the prettier one out of the both of them. She doesn't think she ever will.

Her temporary ally gives a grunt of approval before leaning away. "I saw you writing away over here and decided to see if I was hallucinating or not. Guess you're finally back in business then?" Gigi slugs her dazzled bag over her shoulder. "I'd like to take credit for this, by the way. Surely my yelling put you back into place?"

Lips twitching into a sad smile, she realizes this is another thing she doesn't remember. "Yeah. Thank you for it." It's a lie, but Hermia let's Gigi win.

She looks like she needs a win as much as the dark-skinned girl needed this one.

The blonde smiles proudly, her ego being stroked, and she nods once. Then twice before she finally leaves Hermia alone. She shakes her head, because if anyone is as lost on this Earth as she is…

It's Gigi.

* * *

"I don't know why I feel obligated to leave you this. Maybe it's because of our centuries of friendship between us, or maybe it's because I like to complicate things. Whatever the reasoning is, just know you're lucky to have an answer at all."

All she can do is stare as the voice fills her ears.

"I'm leaving the country for a while. I've decided this place is too invested with my enemies to even think about continuing to live here. I don't know why I stayed as long as I did. Perhaps...I really did like seeing you everyday."

Everyday. Hermia feels her chest tighten with this knowledge.

"But once I leave, and after this year ends of course, things will slowly go back to normal for you. You won't forget anything anymore. You'll remember and continue growing again. Can't say you'll remember your old memories, but hey, at least you'll get to keep these new ones!"

Her body shivers. She leans over, clutching at her sides and hugging herself. A pathetic attempt to feel better. To focus on her body's form rather than the answer to this case.

"It was me. I'm why you couldn't remember anything. But I won't apologize, since it isn't my fault at all...Ah, whatever, let's wrap this up." There's a sigh, one that seems shaky enough to deem the man capable of sadness. "Goodbye, Hermia. May we never meet again." And the last thing he says, as if to affirm the girl's gut feeling, is- "It's Tid."

The voicemail stops there.

The phone falls from her hands, slipping onto the floor with a soft thud. And the slight pain her ears feel from her headphones ripping out of her ears means nothing to her at all. Tid had confirmed the biggest mystery for her, but still had left many to solve. Questions that would never be answered, as she would forget everything about him - about this - tomorrow. Her eyes well with tears, and her lip quivers. Being naked in her own bed, in her own home, has never felt more vulnerable than right now.

Hands wrap around her neck, and she feels the soft feel of breasts pressing into her back. A nose nuzzles her cheek, and blonde hair graces some of her own bare skin. Sloppy kisses are pressed to her cheeks, and the other girl whines when Hermia continues shaking. Yet she doesn't ask what's wrong, and only moves to rest her chin on her shoulder. Gazing at Hermia's face through thick lashes as she talks.

"It's so interesting you know- the fact we slept together today. Next year, this day won't even exist."

Hermia reacts then, hand coming up to brush at blonde locks anxiously. "What?" Is all she can strangle out of herself.

The girl smiles softly, and it hits her a little harder than she thought it would when she starts to realize how differently she looks when compared to Gigi. "Darling, it's leap year."

Something clicks then, and the timing is too perfect for it not to be on purpose.

And Hermia cries, laughter dying on her swollen lips.


End file.
